
GopyrigM°_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




<*WLu^ 



C^m^ /J" yt^^L 



POEMS 



ROSE CORBIN. 



DEDICATED 

TO 
MY MOTHER 

To whose encouragement 
I owe every success. 



(BceJved 
MAh 37 \9Q7 

. -. . 

>| XXc, NO. 
COPY B. « ' 



( 



^ 



Y poor untrained waifs, I have brought them 
together, 

And given each a place under this back of leather. 
All have been written in the morning of life's 

day; 
How imperfect they will be to the noon sun's 
ray. 
The bud ot literature these poems would assume 
But oh ! how simple to the full bloom 

As timidly o'er the land their way they wend, 
May they occasionally rest in the hand of a friend. 



THE PIANO. 

H sweet instrument, pour forth your tone 
For I love to hear thee, when I'm alone; 

Your veins are but strings of wire, 

But the blood that flows through them sets my 
heart on fire. 

My soul, through my fingers, goes to your keys 
And you tell my secret to the passing breeze, 
And it lightly carries them to the sky 
To open from a white cloud for the King on high. 

And my prayer, let my thoughts be pure and white 
So the clouds' load may be light and bright; 
So dear piano, from your bosom let flow 
Only my thoughts that are like the snow. 

Yea, though the world may hate me and scorn, 
You will stay with me from ev'n till morn, 

My soul to you I open and you tell it to the breeze 
Which takes it to the feet of God and there leaves. 

The sun is fast sinking in the west 

And this busy world will soon be at rest, 

When all is peaceful and day no longer bright, 
We confide in each other through the quiet lone 
night. 

And sometimes when we are alone, 

We go with the breeze to the great White Throne; 
And play our hearts tor the King to hear, 
But those tones will never, never be heard here. 



ALONE. 

OH, dear heart, how I long for thee, 
If I could your dear face see 

It would give me joy and life 

And help me bear this daily strife; 
But I am alone, like a boat on the sea 
And the moon in the sky looks down on me 

For she, too, is alone, 

But she smiles in a patient wa}' 
As she watches the tired world groan 
Under the load of styles and fashions gay. 

And listen, I hear the nightingale, 

Singing alone its pitiful wail ; 
Sing it again, sweet bird, 
A sweeter song I never heard ; 

And soul, in that song, there could not be 

If other birds' songs bothered thee. 
And you, dear moon, your charms would loose, 
If by your side there were other moons. 

And I must be alone, tho' I mourn for thee so, 

And as I watch the moon come and go, 
And hear the bird sing her song, 
My conscience tells me it is wrong, 

But content and happy I will never be 

Like the song bird, the moon, and the boat on 
the sea, 
Until again my eyes rest on thee. 



THE CHAIN. 

LIFE is but a chain 
Of linked disappointments, 
That holds us within reign 
Of the world enjoyment. 

Closely around us it doth entwine, 

Making cur steps weary and slow, 
Making life's pathway harder to climb; 

Under the weight our shoulders bend low. 

Link after link is added to the chain, 

Making our wordly progress slow, 
We seek to rise but 'tis all in vain, 

And under our disappointments grow. 

Many a struggling soul has worked 

For the laurel wreath of fame, 
And from duty has never shirked, 

But is cast down with the chain. 

You have spoiled many a career 

That could have been one triumphant and high, 
But when you grow heavier with each year, 

They cease striving and drop hope with a sigh. 



10 



TO 

THOU art like a butterfly 
That flits from flower to flower, 
Your dainty head you carry high, 
Although its brain possess no power. 

Life to you is but a dream, 
And you to the world much less, 

The highest object you esteem 

Is to excel your neighbor in dress. 

You do no good and you do little harm, 
You have done nothing complete; 

But in throwing out your dainty charm, 
Many men you have drawn to your feet. 

When you are dead and laid at rest, 
They should carve upon your tomb, 

"Here lies a maid dressed in her best, 
Here lies a bud that never did bloom. ' ' 



11 



THE NEWS BOY. 

ON yon corner stands a lad 
Who knows no parents and has no home, 
Yet his face is everything but sad, 

And makes life pleasant and winsome. 

He has no burden, save the Daily Times, 

And as he cries "Extras" in his exhilarating 
voice. 
It brings to his pocket many extra dimes, 

And it rings musically through the continual 
noise. 

He lives only for the present, 

His future is a blank, 
His smile is friendly and pleasant, 

And his eyes are open and frank. 

I often see a prosperous man, with a careworn face, 

Look on the features of this boy, 
I believe they would willingly take his place, 

If, with it, they could receive his innocent joy. 



12 



JIM. 

WHEN I was six years old, I loved little Jim, 
And when we went to school I sat just be- 
hind him, 
When the teacher called the roll, his voice sounded 

s© grand, 
Just like he had a whole army to command. 

I 'd take an apple and slip to him on the sly, 
And then sit back and watch him eat it, and my 
It would just go down a coastin fast, 
L,ike I did on the sied before the winter past. 

And my, he could whip most every boy in town, 
I wish you could have seen them stand aroun'. 

And Oh! I loved him so awful hard 

That pretty soon I got tired. 

And then a new fellow came to school, 

With a nice big collar, white and cool, 

And he wore his Sunday suit most every day, 
And he always said "Yes Ma'am" in a very po- 
lite way. 

So I moved my seat away from Jim , 

To sit a little closer to him, 

And one day I took to him a peach, 

Jim shut his fist, I was glad he's out of reach. 



13 

But oh! after school, Jim got him down some what, 

And spoiled his collar and suit a lot, 

And he begged Jim to stop, just like a baby calt, 
That he would cut the peach into and give him 
half. 

And that he could have all of me, 
Well they can't have another peach off our tree; 
If they say a word to me, I'll tell them they 

look cheap 
That Iv'e decided to wait till I get old, then get a 
beau I can keep. 



EXPECTATION. 

1"*HE shadows of night are falling fast, 
* Jewels bedeck the world's crown, 
And when you met me last, 
The sun had not gone down. 

Oh! my nymph, so long seems my wait, 
The very woods seem filled with your spirit, 

Doomed, is my life, yet I forget my fate 
Under your caresses, I no longer fear it. 

Do I hear your footsteps on the path of gravle? 
Or is it the rustling of your garments that fall 
on my ear? 
'Tis only the autumn leaves as over the land they 
travel ; 
And it is lonely, so lonely, without you here. 



14 

My lips chill for your warm kiss, 

Your nymph-like form, I fain would embrace, 
And I have waited long for this, 

With eyes aching to rest on your face. 

Oh! mocking fountain, with thy water clear, 
As you carelessly fall into the basin below, 

'Tis like the falling of her words on my ear, 
And my expectation into anxiety doth grow. 

Ah! my darling, why not use celerity 

In coming to the side of your love? 
Hitherto you have shown the charity 

That comes from the Angels above. 

Listen ! Did I hear the gate swing? 

Or was it a nestling bird cried? 
I will know no peace till your dainty feet bring 

Your beloved form to my side. 

These words are haunted by no fawn, 

No human ears will listen, or voices break 

This silence, until the day begins to dawn ; 

And here we will remain till the observing sun 
doth awake. 



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TO 

THE restiess ocean tossed in its bed, 
Eaeh wave wishing for more room, 
Sleepless over each other they fled 
Away into darkness and gloom. 

And in the depths of yonr melodious soul, 
Sleepless with passion, restless with desire; 

Harmony thus did toss and roll 
Until it burst forth like flames of fire. 

Warning the heart and soothing the ear, 
Your life, Oh Genius, has not been in vain, 

For each man is better for each note he did hear, 
A hallow to the world has been your fame. 

And your soul will sing forth for centuries to come, 
Through the souls that sing in your praise, 

Your name will shine forth like a leading star to 
some, 
Who have no path in life's rugged ways. 



16 



A SONG. 

I would that I were a nightingale 
I would sing you to sleep in the moonlight pale 
And when the world is quiet, I would stay 
And sing all your troubles away. 

And if I were a blooming flower, 

I would send fragrance sweet to thy bower, 

And, when you were tired of all else in this world 
I would give you perfume from my petals unfurled 

Ah! that I were the breeze, on a hot, sultry day, 
I would kiss your burning brow, and through your 
curls would play, 
I would fan you to sleep in the twilight, 
And stay with you throughout the long night. 

I would that I were the moon 

So I could send light into you room 

And be paid by one glance of your heavenly eyes, 
Then welcome death with the rewarded prize. 



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LIFE'S JOURNEY. 

*HEY stood on youth's bright shore, 
A doleful look upon each face, 
And as they looked life's journey o'er, 
They saw it was a hazardous race. 

The waves leaped up like a hungry tongue, 
No shining goal illuminated the back ground, 

And in the sky dense clouds hung, 
A dark gloom prevailed all around. 

They bid farewell to their childish land, 
And the paths all strewn with flowers; 

To their loving mother, and her guiding hand; 
To their immaculate pleasures and happy hours. 

Then on life's sea they set sail, 

To find the honor waiting, waiting beyond; 
The rocks were thick, and their boat was frail, 

The night was long, for no day dawned. 

Vultures pierced the air with their lusty cries; 

Sea serpents tossed their boat aside; 
The sea never calms, the wind never dies, 

And on rushes the unruly tide. 

"Oh! Let us give up, " cried one of the three, 
"And turn back to that beautiful shore, 

I see no end to this dreadful sea, 

Let us proceed with this folly no more." 



18 

But the other two faces were set and stern, 
Their determined eyes turned not aside, 

They vowed as they had started, they would never 
return, 
No matter what peril might preside. 

The poor soul trembled with fright, 

His eyes dilated with fear; 
The other two with lips set tight, 

With difficulty continued to steer. 

"I am going to swim back," he cried, 

As he leaped from the boat; 
But he sank before the echo died, 

And the vultures sang a triumphant note. 

The sky sank its lightning sword 

Into the breast of the sea, 
Which, in its anger, tossed and roared, 

And the disturbed serpents hissed continually. 

Through the tempest flooded sweet tones, 

Enticing, rich and rare, 
So calm and sweet amid the groans, 

What sweet rest there must be there. 

One turned aside and saw an isle, 

"A home of sirens," he cried; 
And one threw upon him an inviting smile, 

"Let's stop and on this pleasant isle reside." 



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"Beware," said the comrade of their nugatory song, 

"Beware of their treacherous smile, 
Be patient, we will reach the goal before long, 

Turn not aside for a maiden's guile." 

But, unable to resist their soothing tones, 
He left the boat and leaped into the deep. 

When he was washed ashore, a pile of bones, 
The .sirens laughter rang low and sweet. 

Alone, on life's journey, the last one went, 

His brow was drawn with pain, 
His incentive soul was forward bent, 

For in glory he desired to reign. 

What is the distant light? 

What means this sudden change? 
Why is the sea calm and bright? 

He is nearing the homeward range. 

Up the steps of pearl, 

And through the gates of gold 
That leads the way to a better world, 

And leaves this one of old. 

A laurel wreath is placed upon his head 

By the hand of God's own angel; 
With songs of praise to a throne he is lead, 

His life is forever and celestial. 



20 

ANCIENT MILL. 

kH! see the ancient mill, 
That stands upon the hill, 

Many were the youthful day, 

That by its side I would play. 
I would listen to its busy hum, 
As I gazed on the rising sun; 

And that music my ear did sooth, 

As I listened in the days of my youth. 
Behind, the brook laughed all day, 
As it carelessly rippled on its way; 

And the graceful trees bent to and fro 

As if they would that they could go. 
Oh! Grace, oh! nature, 'tis bountiful here, 
Artist, bring your canvas, for the prize will be dear, 

And paint this beautiful sight for me, 

So that in old age my eyes may see. 
That which I must leave behind, is sublime. 
Ruin not this spot, oh ye relentless Time; 

When I come back, let the mill 

Still sing its song upon the hill. 
Disturb not these ancient trees; 
Mar not Dame Nature's peace; 

But alas! fields will be made where the trees now 
stand; 

The brook will be tilled for the want of land. 
The mill will be deserted and left in time, 
For nothing works in this world like time. 



ai 

A SONG. 

THE sun has crept into its bed 
Covered with a cloud, snow white, 
Flushed with the merry chase it has led, 
It leaves us with the cool, calm night. 
The fire-flies carry their lanterns about 

To tell you 'tis sleeping time; 
S© close your eyes and shut all visions out, 
Then sleep to this simple rhyme. 

As rosy as a peach, is the bloom on your cheek, 

Your golden curls are like the sun at noon; 
And, my darling, if you but seek 

You will be in slumberland soon. 
The moon is coming up to keep 

Her patient watch on high, 
And when you fall into blissful sleep 

Guardian angels will stand near by. 



TO AN OLD PIANO. 

YOU are cracked, not without but within, 
Your voice is very high and thin, 
Your wires are worn, rusty and old, 
Your frame remains, but not your soul. 

When I was young, it was my pride 
To press these keys into your ivory side, 
But now you shriek, as though in pain 
When I play upon you my simple refrain. 



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But, old friend, we will not part, no never, 
Though a new one comes, I will keep thee forever, - 
And when the new one its songs have sung, 
Think of what you were when 30U were young. 



A VISION. 

HE wore a robe of spotless white, 
The angel that passed from my sight. 
Will I ever see her again? 
Will I ever know her name? 

She passed me like a cloud, 
And at the sight, I vowed 

To look again on her beautiful face 

And behold the form with its nymph-like grace. 

Ah! face, I can never describe thee; 
Ah! eyes, with the depth of the sea; 

Crowned with hair like the wholly night, 

And a throat like the lily white. 

Come back, oh virgin, and smile on me, 
For from your charms T can never be free, — 

And if death be my lot 

I could forget thee not. 



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LOVE. 

'NINVITED, unsought for, in my heart it 
dwells, 

Like the rising sun to the dawn, it seems. 
Radiant and glorious, there it swells 
Like the reality of my childish dreams. 



THE FLOWER. 

S I look into this flower 
That lies upon my breast, 
I let go all earthly power, 
And in its depths find sweet rest. 

And, as on its stamen I gaze, 

I am held with some hypnotic power, 
The world to me becomes a haze, 

Sweet dreams my soul does devour. 

This dew drop must be a tear 
Shed lor the loss of mother vine, 

But oh, flower, do not dissappear, 
It breaks my heart to see you repine. 

Faces that are dear to me, 

From thy velvety center shine up, 
And sometimes my future I see, 

As .some maids see theirs in a teacup. 



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The essence of your perfume 

Would soon sooth me to sleep, 
Wither not, oh fragrant bloom, 

You in my presence I would forever keep. 

Must I give up my dream with a sigh? 

Must it vanish and painful life come to view? 
I will give up my dreams, dear, with you. 



THE REAPER. 

OH! reaper, spare this bud I pray, 
Do not cut it down with your scythe, 
For it budded only in the dawn of day, 
In the noon sun it would thrive. 

Leave it, that to the world it may unfold 

Its beauty now hid away beneath the budding 
power, 

It knows not of the trials this world doth hold; 
But hereafter is forever, and life but an hour. 

So let it bloom and then die, 

But you strike and relent not to prayers; 
And why do we strive to keep life, for 'tis but a sigh 

Caused by worry and cares. 



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HOME. 

leave your shielding walls 
To go into the dismal world, 
And a gloomy chill around me falls 

As I look into the fathomless depths of failure, 
And on the triumphant mountain of fame. 

Oh! that I could reach its glorious height: 
But deep in the valley of shame 

One careless step would force me to reside. 

I will strive to ascend to glory with care, 

And I will be paid for each step; 
I see a peaceful home waiting there, 

So I may rest my tired feet on the hearth; 
And I will lend a hand to others, while on high, 

So those that are mounting, may see 
The honorable rest, that will never die, 

And then be thankful they are not below. 

Home, the world is simple but dear, 

The darkest heart has a kindred feeling, 
For its hearth and fire of cheer. 

And, as I turn to leave this place, 
Over my rough path falls a light, 

From the window it shines, 
Making lifeless dreary and less dark the night: 

And I wend my way more cheerily alone. 



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So I leave thee. Oh thou adored place. 

How I love each solid stone, 
Covered with the ivy green lace; — 

And the trees on the lawn 
Like guarding soldiers, they stand. 

Oh, give me strength to pass the gate, 
And leave my favorite spot on land. 

RAGTIME. 

kH! play some music called rag, 
To it we can dance to hell, 
And shake the troubles that to us tag, 
For it, our last deep thought we will sell. 

And why think you so deep, any way? 

Why have a long face crowned with a thoughtful 
brow? 
Come give us some music that sounds gay, 

For deep our dull brains will not plow. 

And the poor old piano a rattling goes, 

And Satan keeps time with his tail; 
Oh! how it effects us in our toes, 

And in a cloud our head would sail. 

Play on, play on, faster yet, and soon we will dance 
Over the precipice into the depths below, 

For if Satan would cut us for kindling, it would 
chance 
That the fire would be so low. 



27 



TO 

AH Bride, that stands before the altar, 
May a happy lot be thine, 
May thy footsteps never falter 

Among sorrows that some entwine. 

May thy matrimonial life be as pleasant 
As this month that God unites you, 

And your future as happy as the present, 
And may your clouds in life be but few. 

And your path be as thick with friends 

As it is now with flowers; 
Ah, your joys will have no ends, 

For your goodness above us all towers. 

And, when your harvest is ripe 

And the church bell tolls for you again, 
May you pass into eternal light, 

Endless life, where only glory will reign. 

Oh, how impossible it is for me to measure 
My thoughts, with my poor unskilled pen; 

But it is joy, happiness and pleasure 
For you, is the prayer of a friend. 



28 

ELFRIDA. 
9 'TPlS a pity, if all rumor be true, 

* That such a fair maid should reside 
In seclusion For fair maids we have but few, 
And they parade their beauty with triumphant 
pride. 

They call her the most beautiful on all the land, 
And tell me of her charms in descriptions I can- 
not repeat. 
This fair lady I would woo, If it is not necessary to 
command 
She will be mine, or I will be a suitor at her feet. 

Here comes Ethewold, a good judge of maids fair; 
What thinks he of this beauty hid away from 
court? 
"Ethewold, come hither, tarry not there, 
And tell me what you know of a maid's beauty 
forte 

Tell me, if you have ever been in the presence 
Of one so fair as Elfrida, who little dreams, I 
think, of her." 
"Noble Edgar, I have not looked on Elfrida's coun- 
tenance, 
So I cannot tell if there be fairer in this world. '' 

"Ah, 'tis true, perhaps, we are fooled; — 
So I will send you to the gentle maid's home, 

And when you see her face, my Ethewold, 
If she be so fair, I too will roam. 



29 

As your tastes and mine are so much trie same 
It makes little difference, who sees the maid; 

But on my word, Ethewold, I win the game 
So, go play till your part is played." 

Ethewold set forth upon his steed, 

Which seemed impatient to be on its way, 

As though it too felt interested in the venture of the 
day; 
And they rode along with great speed, 

Till they reached the maid's home. 

It was long before Ethewold could see the face, 
That had brought him hither in such haste, 

And about the place he ceased to roam. 

Fatigue, aided, by the warm sun 

Threw him into blissful sleep. 

Thus engrossed in slumber, so deep, 
He dreamed not that by his side was the one. 

At lost he awoke with a sudden start, 

The horse had strayed away, 

But by his side a handkerchief lay; 
She had been there and he had not played his part. 

Arising, he gazed about him 

And started back. For there she stood 

Smiling so saintly. Ah, if he could 
Take the hand so white, and protect the form so 
slight. 



30 

She smiled, and then withdrew; 

'Twas like a vision passing away. 

Come back, Come back, O, maid I pray 
She turned and upon him another smile threw, 

And was gone. He sadly turned to find 
The horse, then mounted and rode to the King. 
Slowly they traveled, as though 'twas a sad mes- 
sage they bring. 

Ethewold's heart was left behind. 

How could he tell the King of her beauty, 

When he knew it would bring the King to her 

side, 
To win the hand, that could be the hand of his 
bride. 

The King met him, impatient to know all, 
It the maid was fair, dark, short or tall. 

Ethewold smiled, as though he had seen 

Not a flower, but only the green. 

"What," cried King Kdward, "'tis all a false story 
Of this maid and her reigning glory." 

"Your Majesty, 'tis as easy for a false rumor to 
start 

As it is for the breeze to play its part. ' ' 

"Well, let it be so. 

No one need know 

Of the curiosity of the King, 

Unless you deem it a good joke to sing, 



31 

Over the cup like a fool that you are. ' ' 

''No one shall know it my good King 
But with your permission I will be gone a while, 
To rest, I know not where, perhaps on the isle. ' ' 

Ethewold went back to woo and win 
The maid, who vowed she loved him. 

A happier man lived not on the isle 

He Vowed, as he basked in the rays of her smile. 

A messenger came to tell Ethewold 

The King was coming. Ah, his happiness was not 
to grow old. 
Rushing to Elfrida, his brow pale with fear 
He told her of the King and begged her to appear 

In raiment gawdy, and hide her graceful ways 
Under coarse actions, so that the King's gaze 

Might not covet the wife he loved so well. 

Elfrida looked at her terrified husband, her eyes 
fell. 

"All will be well Ethewold, have no fear, 

Leave me alone. I will prepare tor a King's jeer." 

Left alone, Elfrida' s ambitions arose. 

How many a heart has ambition froze. 

King Edgar's Queen and a royal life. 

How lonely it was to be Ethewold 's wife. 
She arranged her toilet, with the greatest of care, 
Glancing in the mirror she saw beauty reflected 
there. 



32 

She laughed softly as though she had seen, 
There, within the glass, the future Queen. 

Treading softly out of the room 

She waited for the King, while Ethewold waited 
for his doom. 

The King met Ethewold in a friendly way; 
He asked for the bride that his compliments he 
might pay; 
Advancing to the King in courtly grace, 
She smiled on him, but dare not look on her hus- 
band's face. 

The King saw it all with one glance, 

Elfrida would be his, if he would finish 
Ethwold with his lance. 

They planned to hunt the forest through; 

Glad to have King Edgar from Elfrida's presence, 
Ethwold joked with the King and smiled on the 
peasants. 

Oh, he knew Elfrida was true. 

For that morning she bid him hunt no more, 
And smiled as they parted early that morn, 
And told him, without him she was always forlorn. 

How she loved him to her heart's core. 

The King his javelin drew, before him he could 

see Elfrida's smile; 
In his ear her argentine laughter rang all the while* 
Her snowy white hand beckoned him to kill 



38 

Ethewold, and thus keep his rival still. 
Striking with his javelin, he fell Ethewold, 
Then stood and watched the warm body turn cold. 

Turning, he again saw Elfrida smile, 'twas tri- 
umphant and vain. 
He rode back hastily and begged that she help him 
to reign. . 
Her work was accomplished, her ambitions 

crowned; 
I know not what happiness therein was found. 

JANE. 

EACH evening as the stars shine overhead 
And twilight closes her dim eyes; 
She turns her feet to the City of the Dead, 
For there, her only lover lies. 

The sentinel tomb stands by his mound 

As if to guard the ashes below; 
While she sinks helpless to the ground. 

And on passes time, faltering and slow. 

Of worldly things she has lost all pride, 

She no longer desires to excel; 
Her only wish is, to rest by his side, 

Then her life will be ended well. 

For worldly prizes she has no crave, 

For her reward he cannot share; 
Just a grave near his grave, 

Is her only living prayer. 



31 



THE CLOUD. 

^H cloud, pass from my life 
And leave me in the light, 
Make peace of this strife, 
Make day of this night. 

You hang low over my head. 

As though you wished to envelop me, 
You press your weight, the weight of lead, 

Upon shoulders, that should be free. 

Your lightning pierces deep my heart, 
That bleeds with grief and pain, 

For with one, I must forever part, 
No more in this world to meet again 

Far over the sea in a climate high, 
Dwells one that ever to me is dear. 

Hush! cold wind you mock my sigh. 
And, ah, rain you mock each tear. 

For no more, can I live without him, 
Than you old world without the sun. 

Ah! I know, it is a sin; 

But I wish my life had never begun. 

Alas, sun come forth again 

And in my dark life shine; 
I will try to stop this hourly pain 

And console this heart of mine. 



85 



Heart of mine, did I say, 

Alas, then I said wrong, 
It is a heart that's thrown away. 

To no one, it does belong. 

It is broken and cast aside, — 

Like some toy it has been; 
O, broken toy, get thee and hide, 

It is impossible for thee to mend. 

Farewell! Then world and wordly things. 

The cloud has enveloped my frame, 
And forever round me it clings; 

No youth, no joy for me again. 



IF I were a turtle dove 
I would fly across the sea, 
And when I arrived with my love 
I wonld perch upon his knee, 

And tell him, without him, I would die 
And not to drive me away. 

Far happier I would be in his pie, 
Than in the fields with other birds gay. 



36 



THE FUGITIVE. 

AH, village, I turn and look on thee, 
Home of my childhood's day; 
As I look my eyes can see 
A cottage far away. 

'Tis simple and plain, 

This home that I see, — 
Oh, that my feet might rest again 

At the hearth, and my heart was free, 

Like, when I was a boy. 

But, I dare not enter this home 
For I would turn their simple joy, 

With shame to mournful groans. 

And my mother's loving smile 
Would be broken at my tale, — 

Ah, broken at a Story so vile 
Her face would turn pale. 

Her loving embrace would turn to ice, 

Her motherly love to shame; 
For her loving hand sows no vice 

And reapeth thereiore no blame. 

And, Father, who sits before the fire. 

Do you think of your son tonight? 
And brood of his wanderings dire? 

Do you fear if his soul has taken flight? 



37 

You know not, I am hunted like the hare, 
And kept out of all's way, but conscience. 

I desire not to live, and to die, I do not dare. 
All this O, Father, sounds like nonsense. 

But it is the truest of all truth. 

Ah, Father, take me to your heart 
As you did, when I was a youth, 

And let me from my sin depart. 

I see the steeple of the church, 

Where each Sabbath morning- I went; 

And yonder is the ancient birch 
My initial in the bark does dent. 

O tree, your very limbs hang down for shame, 
To have carved upon your noble trunk, 

The initial of such a name, — 

A name that was marred while drunk. 

Yon schoolhouse is the same as when I rang the bell 
For the teacher; And there is the bridge 

Where I rescued the pretty village belle. 

But let me tear myself away from the village, 

Never to return again; 

And leave my home, my peace and all. 
Ah! farewell peaceful village, painful, 

Has been my fall. 



38 

THE VIOLIN. 

sweetest instrument, of all thy kindred, 
> Can any ever send forth the wailing cries 
That come from your breast, unhindred, 
And, away into space and dies. 

O, violin, your tones sink keep into my heart 
As yon setting sun sinks in the west. 

My very soul in sympathy does start 
With the soulful instrument I love best. 

Cease not your tones, O, sensitive strings, 
For you play in harmony with my tired life, 

And in harmony my soul sings, 
No longer oppressed by strife. 

Ah, your tones swell rich, round and full, 
Crying out as heaven does in joyful light, 

When the gates are thrown open and the life line 
pull 
In many sinners, from the sea of ambitious fight. 

And now you sing so sweet and low, 

Like a mother singing her babe to sleep. 

Emotions heave within you like the winds blow, 
And you tremble on the calm air as you hasten, 
to meet 

A silver lined cloud on high, 

And within its walls, your tones will ring, 
Making heavenly music in the sky, — 

Music to which the stars will sing. 



39 



RAINDROPS. 

A PARTY of raindrops went out to drive 
In thdr cloudy chariot, through the sky; 
They had no place where they intended to arrive 
'Twas only for pleasure they traveled so high. 

The wind steed drew them at a rapid rate, 
Lightning flashed from his nostrils; 

The silly creatures know not their fate 

And their eyes with wonder and surprise fills. 

The clouds rolled apart, so they could pass by, 
While the earth below trembled with fright; 

Thus they thundered through the sky, 

Happy and content with their present delight. 

Coming their way pants another steed, 

His chariot is also filled with merry drops, 

And it is coming with the same speed. 

There will be a collision, yet neither stops. 

Like knights in a tournament they ride, 
Their lances held ready for the combat; 

With fear and alarm the raindrops cried, 
But alas, it was too late for that. 

They had met and were all upset, 

Falling to the earth below: 
And although they worry and fret, 

They will return more slow. 



40 

Through the land and through the tile 

They finally flow into a stream, — 
Then from river to lake, each wondering all the 
while, 

If it was a wild, dreadful dream. 

Bnt when they saw the sun's friendly ray, 

Dancing amid them, they knew 
A pleasant evening was coming to their adventurous 
day, 

And to her warm breast they all flew. 

A MAIDEN. 

know a maiden blithe and fair, — 
Her eyes are like the evening star, 
But, when the dew gathers there, 
In the oceanic depths gleam jewels rare; 

Her laurel wreath is but a flower 
Of virtue flushed under the sun's glare. 

And when she opens her velvet lips, they show 
The pearly gates of the speech behind,— 

Back of the curtain they gleam and flow 

And, as the words between them glow, 

They echo like music, through the hall ol my 
mind, 

Making there an image to grow. 

Each hair of her head is a sunbeam 
Done up in one radiant light, 

Throwing over her from its sheen; 



41 

How unconscious of her beauty she doth seem 

And she stands timidly back from sight 
Her face is the reality of my most fantastic dream. 

Ah, maiden, I would that you could stay 
Just as you are, till your life is finished; 

But, in this whirling world, so gay, 

You will soon cast modesty away; 

And thou, oh maiden, with beauty undiminished, 

Will dance the Macabre dance, till the end of your 
days. 



ANCIENT ROME. 

^H, Daughter of Augustus, though sleeping 
beauty fair, 
You were mistress of Sea and land; 
From the seven hills you no longer glitter and glare, 
Dazzling the nations with your splendor grand. 

The wine of Syria gave lustre to your eyes; 

The literature of Greece was ever on your tongue; 
And thus jovl considered yourself wise, 

In that, which you from your neighbors wrung. 

Your form was made with the minerals of Spain. 

The silk of Syria, adorned you rich and rare, 
And while you thus continued to reign 

Few nations possessed, that which you did not 
share. 



42 

Like the sky was the Turquois crown, 

That Persia placed on your head. 
While nations trembled under your frown 

And the Nile only watered her vegetables for you, 
'twas said. 

The Rome that grows over your grave 

Now, stands on a level plain, 
Merry children play on the tombs of your brave, 

And Rome is no longer triumphant and vain. 

The Coliseum stands like a tomb 
To remind all, of the sleeping below, 

But its walls are gray in the gloom, 

And within it the blood has ceased to flow. 

O, thou City of the Seven Hills, I would you could 
rise, 
And stand as you did, before this fall, if I were a 
prince, I know 
I would pry into your grave. When you opened 
your eyes 
I would beg you to ascend from the depths below. 



48 

GONE. 

■ ONE, is the happy hour, 

l And left only a withered flower; 
Gone, are the sweet realities, 
Leaving only vacant memories. 

Gone, is the song of mirth, 
Leaving only its echo on the earth. 

Time has blinded the last ray of light, 

Making darker the shades of night. 

The warmth has all fled from the lone heart, 
Like from the body, when the soul doth part. 

Ah, 'tis deserted, nothing can be done, 

For hope is gone, gone, gone. 

THE SAILOR. 
EAP not forth, oh, cold Wave, 
To kiss my anguished face, 
For deep in your restless grave, 

My lover was carried in your embrace. 

Whisper and tell me, oh wealthy Sea, 
On which sandy mound lies my lover, 

For of all the treasures embedded in thee, 

My Sailor boy is the rarest your waves cover. 

His lips were like the coral red, 

His eyes were turquoise blue, 
The curly locks that enfold his head 

Was ne'er equaled with the Sun's golden hue. 



44 

You hold no pearls that with his teeth compare, 
Your finest shell would blush by his ear, 

His open brow is as ivory fair; 
Tell me where he rests, oh sea, I long to hear. 

Cease weeping gentle maid, I pray, 

Your lover is a merman now; 
About his crag the mermaids play; 

They kiss his coral lips and ivory brow 

The sirens' song fills his ear, 

Evety fish in my kingdom his piesence loth 
About his cave they all adhere; 

Ah, 'twill ne'er be my wave that washes him 
ashore. 

His golden locks are the sun of our sea, 
Our summer sky is his turquois eyes, 

Our mermaids are fairer, much fairer than thee, 
Their sorrow was ne'er born, their mirth ne'er 
dies. 



45 



MORNING. 

HAIL the morning with your blithe song 
Oh ye fowls, of the air. 
The morning is glorious and the day is long, — 
Hope reigns everywhere. 

The pure morning breeze vibrates our fibrous i veins 

Like a chord struck on the harp. 
Ah pity the man, that in the morning complains 

Because his tools are not sharp. 

Like jewels set in the earth's carpet green 

The morning dew gleams, 
The modest flowers blush for they have been seen 

By the passionate sunbeams. 

The factory whistle blows loud and shrill, 

Industrious feet tread that way, 
And the heart begins to beat within the mill. 

Inspiring is the morn of day, 

In this world , what man doth best, 

Is done in the morn, 
Before the sun drives o'er the west 

Before the day is worn. 



4fi 

TO 

|H thou sage, of intellectual dread 

How the maids quake under your critical eye 
The massive hair that adorns your head 

Makes you appear, masterly to those who pass by. 

The lessons yon condescend to hear, 

Are always too fast, or too slow; 
While the poor performer trembles with fear, 

And her fingers grow cold as snow. 

Iyike the finest gems the moments were rare 

That crowded the lesson hour. 
But when you were calm and your day fair 

The pupil grew docile under your instruciive 
power. 

When they do their best, they see 

An expression upon your face, 
Of despondency, disgust and sarcasm, and flee 

Away to hide their disgrace. 

But when I hear you play, 

'Tis sweeter than the dawn of dajr, 
Sweeter than the flowers of May, 

That lean forward to hear what the soft breezes 
say. 

It is like the soft breeze rustling through the leaves, 
Or like the silvery water dropping from the eaves, 
Then like an approaching storm it trembles and 
heaves, 



47 



Growing louder, and louder it tosses about like 
waves. 

But slowly it quiets down like the chant of a Nun, 
And it gets softer and softer like the setting sun, 

The sound, the sound there is none 
Alas the piece is done, is done. 



THE WIND. 
LOW, oh thou blustrous Wind, blow, 
Tear the last clinging leaf from the tree, 
Give to the earth a look of woe, 

As your imps laugh shrilly with glee. 

Blow, oh thou blustrous Wind, blow 
The last warm ray from the Sun; 

Blight the harvest, when it would grow. 
Delay not your work until it is done. 

Blow, oh thou blustrous Wind, blow 
Your chill bieath on the mud earth, 

Cover her with a robe of snow, 

Then dance around the house with mirth. 

Blow, oh thou blustrous Wind, blow 

Into the maiden's warm face, 
For it only makes more brilliant the glow, 

No lustre from her eye it doth chase. 



48 

THE OWL. 

THE watchful owl 
Sits on the tree; 
And a bright fowl 
I know is he. 

He loves the moon 
And her mellow light; 

But the glaring noon 
Most blinds his sight. 

He sits on the limb 

When all others sleep; 
We must not disturb him, 

For his muse is deep. 

The breeze plays a tune 
On the boughs of the tree; 

And the clouds glide o'er the moon 
To the sweet melody. 

His melancholy serenade 
Shocks the nightingale; 

It shortens the lover's promenade 
And makes the thief turn pale. 

Oh, that I might an owl be 
On some lovely night in June; 

What wonderous sights I might see 
As I keep watch with the moon. 



49 

THE HERMIT. 

^H let me, away to the hermit's cell 
In the depths ot silvan recluse. 
And muse there listen to him tell 
His morose gloomy muse. 

Eet me hear his sentences rude 

I prefer them, to the polished essay, 
For they come from the reverie of solitude, 

Undisturbed by life's mirthful day. 

While others are striving to kiss the Blarney stone, 

Are bedecking themselves with pomp and grace, 
to live the agitator, 
The hermit dwells in his hermitage alone, 

Beneath the thread bare garment is the soul of a 
mediator. 
I have sought throughout the earth 

For thoughts that are deep and rare; 
I find they shun the place of mirth 

And seek the place of care. 

I find them in the hermit's den 

Eike a light beneath the bushel there. 

Ah, that they could fall off my pen 
I would cherish them as jewels rare. 

How they would shine in literature's crown; 

Why should they smother away in the cave, 
While on the mountain dances the clown, 

Why should they die in solitude's grave? 



50 



THE SERANADK. 

THROUGH the hot desert of passion, I have 
wended my way. 
The mountain ot your ambitions, I have struggled 
to accend, 
Now beneath your balcony, my heart the guitar 
shall play. 
The message, I pray thee, receive and apprehend. 

Oh, may this message enter your room and fall 
Into your ear, like a pearl in a pink shell. 

Oh may it sooth you as David's harp did Saul; 
The pleasant secrets of life I would have it tell. 

What! is your dream of life, so blissful still 

That my song of love cannot awaken your heart, 

Shall I pass from love's valley to the rejected glacier 
chill. 
When my soul remains, must my body depart. 

Ivike the autumn leaves, my hopes are falling fast; 
With each trembling note, my song grows more 
sincere; 
Ah, when winter comes and blows his shrill blast, 
You will think of autumn's pleading tones and 
quail with fear. 

Was it your hand that clasped the balustrade? 
Or the clinging white rose moved by the breeze? 



51 

Was it your fluttering garment that new hopes in 
me hath made? 
Or the flickering of the moonbeams through the 
leaves? 
Ah, 'twas your hand that dropped to me the white 
rose, 
A flower of love an emblem of peace, 
'Tis your lattice window, I hear unclose 

'Tis your voice that bids my pleading song to 
cease, 



THE OIvD YEAR. 

f AREWEIvE, Oh, thou desolate old year, 
The calender is shedding its last leaf, 
And now worn and old it would disappear 
To hide from the world its grief. 

Your body chills beneath the cloak now threadbare, 
With each passing minute the scepter is falling 
from your hand, 
Your brow is wrinkled with pain and care, 
Your voice is speechless and can no longer 
command. 

O dear old year, to me you have been kind, 
You have left no sorrow at my door: 

Thoughts of you will ever be a pleasant memory in 
my mind, 
And I know not what is waiting on before. 



52 



Farewell, O year, if you must go; 

I see your life is dying fast; 
The new year doth glitter and glow, 

As you sink in the grave of the past. 



THE NEW YEAR. 

RING in the new year, 
. Oh ye bells of the steeple; 
For new hopes adhere 
To the rejoicing people. 

They lead her to the vacant throne, 
Beneath her feet is the rug of despair; 

Good resolutions is her crown, 

Her day is young, her brow is fair. 

Oh beautiful new year, full and grand, 
What have you for me beneath your robe? 

All I desire is a helping hand, 
To help me mount this globe. 

We will welcome your joy, 

And endure your sorrow; 
If today you destroy, 

We will build again to-morrow. 



53 



A SONG. 

saw a Christian striving 
Beneath the weighty cross; 
I saw the sinner thriving 
In the fields of gross, 

Flowers bloomed at the Christian's feet, 

Flowers that the sinner indulged in, 
But beneath their color and fragrance sweet, 

Was the poisonous thorn of sin. 

Temptation came in garments of pleasure, 
And bade the Christian rest on his arm; 

The Christian replied, "I have my treasure 
Where neither moth nor rust will harm." 

The thorns of sin clings not to the flower, 
Sin the spotless robe does not mask; 

Just to be there and rest one hour 

To lay my burden at Christ's feet is all I ask. 

The sinner continued his reckless career, 
His shiftless eyes were free from care 

Of the Savior's wrath he had no fear, 
Thus Satan 's honeyed sins he desired to share. 

Death will soon come o'er the land, 

And touch the flower with the hand of frost; 

I see the sinner look on heaven's gates grand, 
I hear the agonizing cry, "I am lost!" "I am 
lost!" 



54 

ABSENCE. 

YOUR absence makes the world vacant and cold, 
Like the body after the soul has fled; 
The shady paths our feet once tread, 
Now seems like a vault for the dead. 
Yet I chill not when thoughts of you around me en- 
fold. 

You plucked me a flower fragrant and red, 
And said it was like your love for me; 
But now on its withered bloom, I see, 
It is also like my hopes for thee, 

Have been unattainable, fruitless and dead. 

Under the advice of your encouraging voice, 
I was building life's mansion each day, 
But now it stands unfinished on life's high -way, 
Like a childish nursery play, 

For I no longer, know your choice. 

I stand at the gate, which you passed through, 
And cry in vain for my heart 
To come back, and assist me in my art, 
But before I was aware of its start 

It was gone from me forever with you. 

In some distant land thy feet wander, 
Many new objects thine eyes see, 
When you are resting and care free, 
Do your thoughts ever fly home to me, 

While thus engrossed in wonder? 



55 

When summer blows her soft breeze on my face, 

I feel that you again are near, 

Whispering sweet words in my ear. 

Ah! I know 'tis but a dream dear, 
For you have gone. A thousand leagues markes 
the space. 



NIGHT. 

AS the daik cloak of evening enfolds the night, 
When the last chant of the organ pants away, 
I tread away to the spot unknown, 
To rest there with silence alone. 

I desire not for the night's eyelids in the east to 
unclose, 

For on earth's cooling breast is my sweetest repose, 
And night's visions and dreams I too may behold, 
In the stars where many secrets be untold. 

And thus night, night and I will slumber on, 
Until the agitating sun shall turn and yawn, 
Until the soliciting cock shall cry for day, 
Then exasperated we will tear the mantle away. 



CUPID AND THE BACHELOR. 

AH Cupid, send your piercing dart 
Deep into some lonely heart; 
Wait on the by-way for a bachelor grim, 
Then leave the piercing arrow with him. 

But be carefnl and beware; 

Have it covered with dark hair, 
Have it pointed with bright eyes, 
Before to the bachelor's heart it flies. 

Then get thee away and find the flower, 
That o'er Titania had such power; 

And moisten the eyes of the maid 

As the first call is made. 

But Cupid, you must remain hidden away 
'Twill ne'er do for him to see the plot you play; 
For at once he would take up his shield, 
And to your coy arrows it would ne'er yield. 

Be wise, deft Cupid, be wise, 

Pierce him while blind are his eyes; 
For if a moment you should wait, 
Alas it would be too late, too late. 



57 

Let me be by the Christian's side, 
When home to his Father he doth flee; 

Let me with him in heaven reside, 
With peace, joy and love for eternity. 



REVERY. 

LET me rest my panting steeds of process 
In the shade of twilight revery, 
Before I continue my weary progress 
To reach the shore of eternity. 

Ah, revery, I sink away in your embrace, 
To rest in the dawny depths of blissful dream, 

I would that I could ever keep this place, 
Unawakened by penetrating sun beams. 

The joyous spring of my youthful days, 

The budding talents in the valley of inncxxiu -«> 

And then as I ascend the hill of praise, 
The clouds of failure grow thick and dense 

In my visions, I see the autumn glow, 
For upon the hill of strength and courage 

His brilliant hues seem like a rainbow. 
Ah, will I ever gather the golden foliage? 

There the fruit of success clings to the tree, 

The fruit of spring's young bloom, 
Then let me to the mountain flee, 

Away from this journe3*'s gloom. 



58 

Farewell, oh revery, and you sweet twilight, 
I have been bettered with the dream ; 

But haste on ye steeds through the night, 
For you shall rest in the autumn's gleam 



SPRING. 

THE trees stand arranged in garments green, 
Like merry chorus girls appearing on the scene; 
Their limbs move to the birds refiain 
Their robes glitter with diamonds left by the rain. 
The dew gathers in the violet's blue eye, 
As she watches the bee go humming by, 
To kiss the tulip, glowing and red 
And to rest his wings in the hyacinth's bed. 
The sun through the sky penetrates 
Like a mighty light, shining from Heaven's gates. 
And the pleading tears of the showers 
Opens the hearts of spring's flowers 
Let me dream an hour away in spring's sweet arms 
'Tis sweeter than reign with summer's charms. 



59 



SUNRISE. 

FROM the ocean day is freed, 
For Apollo drives his celestial steed; 
Burning with desire to be released, 
They warm the earth as they ascend the east. 

Aurora raises her dimpled hand of morning', 

Still moist with the dew of the ocean ; 

And tears from the earth the vail of mourning, 
And bids it rejoice over her resurrection. 

Neptune cries aloud in wrath, 

His tears would fain o'er flow the sea. 
Jupiter, bids the stars to clear the path, 
And Juno, before the dawn grows darker in 
jealousy. 

Mercury sends his message into each bird's throat, 
And they sing the melody through all the earth, 

And all living rise to that sweet note 

Watching the day's glorious birth. 



60 

THE WIFE'S LAMENT. 

THE dawn rises from her couch in the east: 
The lights in yon banquet hall burn low, 
The guests are returning home from the feast, 
With weird footsteps tired and slow. 

Thrice his cup was filled to the brim, 

While dimples and diamonds urged him on 
His brilliant eyes with unintelligible light grew 
dim. 
At my feet he now lies, a shame to the blushing 
dawn. 

He curses my love, he scoffs my embrace, 
And my life for him has been a constant prayer, 

Among the evening stars I have traced his face, 
I find his former warmth only in the sun's glare. 

Ah, but consolation, I have sought in vain, 
No more can we live in the happy past; 

A link has been broken in the chain, 
My pleasure will no longer last. 

O, heart, that sailed away on pleasure's rippling 
stream, 
Now is tossed about on the fathomless ocean of 
sorrow, 
What was a maiden's sweet blissful dream 
Has awakened, the dreadful tomorrow. 

As the falling leaves of Autumn cover the green 
grass. 



61 

As the last flushed sun ray dies away; 
Thus our joys have been allowed to pass 
With and under society gay. 

But now the colored leaves are withered and dead; 

The glorious sun dies into twilight; 
The earth is cold beneath our feet, the sky is dark 
o'er head 

And she draws around her the robe of night . 

Oh, how often in vain I have sought 

To lead my love away from sin, to atone, 

But he sinks again with the draught, 
Begging me to leave him and sin alone. 

Oh, let the world lead its giddy chase, 
Let the dizzy dancers dance till morn. 

By this wasted form, I will ever hold my place, 
They have devoured the flower and left the thorn. 



62 



LONGING. 

AS I stood on the shore of longing, and see 
The beautiful land of love on the other side, 
I long to sever every tie and live there with thee. 
But between us tosses the mighty tide. 

Ah, bid me not to come and dwell 

On the mountain of your fame; 
'Tis impossible for me to rest in the dell 

Of love, beneath your flawless name. 

But you will haunt my memory 

Like a sacred blessing from above; 
What best, I do, is inspired by thee 

Even though unattainable, I am betteted with 
love. 

Oh, why does the tide bereave 

My soul of that, which I most desire, — 

That which around my heart doth cleave, 
Burning it like a coal of fire? 

Why must I be here alone 

In these vacant cold caves, 
When I see the bright warm zone 

Of love, beyond the waves? 

I have waited long in desolation 

For these angry waves to subdue; 
They fling in my face their constant exhortation, 

Keeping me all the while away from you. 



63 

They tell me to find the pearls in their sea, 

And seek the crannys on the shore, 
Before I dwell on Pleasure Isle with thee. 

Before I seek rest and pleasure evermore. 

I will never let my lamp of hope cease burning; 

I will set it high on the crag to keep light, 
For me to watch for the vessel of consolation re- 
turning, 

To carry me away from the land of night. 

I desire not to find rest in the grave, 

Though my life is a constant longing sigh; 

But while my eyes penetrate the wave, 
'Tis sweeter to live than to die. 

When the golden banner of youth has been cast 
aside, 
And I take the silver shield of old age, 
If then I should be washed to you on the tide 
Would you let me rest in the shade of your au- 
tumn foliage? 



DEATH OF SUMMER. 

WITH fruits in her hand 
And flowers in her hair, 
Summer comes through the land; 

Her warm breath on the air 
She smiles, her sunbeams 

Warming the earth to its heart core; 
And through her blue sky eyes streams 
The light of peace and pleasure evermore. 

And as she mounts the globe, 

To reign on the land a Queen, 
The folds of her green robe 

Falls over all to be seen ; 
She speaks to us through the birds, 

That sing their unceasing song; 
No sweeter could be words 

To give us cheer and help us along. 

Then Autumn came in colors bright, 

With his frosty lips kissed her flushed face; 
Her sunny smile lost its brilliant light, 

And she withers away and dies in his embrace; 
Her eyes grow cold and gray, 

As she sinks away into death; 
Her veins freeze with the clay, 

Under Autumn's chill breath. 



65 



Then with an icicle sceptre in his hand, 

Winter watches over her corpse, snow white; 

A hushed silence falls over the land, 
And longer grows each dreary night. 



SISTER AGNES. 

AH, little sister, blithe and fair 
With footsteps that seem to tread on air, 
What a blessing you have been to me, 
With your songs of mirth and glee. 

I often steal away to my gloomy den, 
Deeper words, I vain would ken, 

But your footsteps on the stair 

Makes them seem vacant as air. 

Your merry laughter rings clearly in the hall, 

And penetrates the thickest wall; 
The spirit of mischief, your e}^es cannot stay, 
And it gleams from them like a diamond's ray. 

And if I frown and scold and rave 

You pass it o'er, like a cloud o'er a wave; 

'Tis no use for me to be gloomy and contrary, 
For you win me over, at last my sister fairy. 

Trip on, O, little maid, with your unceasing joy, 
For 'tis like a stimulant under the sable of annoy. 



66 

If they are oppressed with some mighty strife, 
L,et them bee how blessed is your youthful life. 
If their day is dark and their sky is gray, 
Send penetrating through them, your cheerful 
lay. 



CONTENTMENT. 

THE seed of contentment was ne'er sown in my 
heart. 
For rest and silence, I have no desire. 
In passing pleasures, I have no part. 

But keep mine eyes on that to which I aspire. 

With placid brow, and dreamy eyes 

Contentment saunters about, 
She utters no groans, and heaves no sighs, 

As she watches life's candle burn ou:. 

O, why Contentment, were you not for me? 

Why do I scoff at your pleasant hours? 
I find no pearls in your fathomless sea: 

And in your valley I find no flowers. 



THE MOURNER. 

'EEP not, 'tis .sweet to remember 
That the fragrant flowers of June, 
Are only sleeping in this bleak December, 

Refreshed with their slumber, they will awaken 
soon. 

Birds, that fly south from the chill air of fall, 

Will return on the same fleet wing; 
They will come to our grove, one and all, 

And for joy of being there, they will light and 
sing. 

Weep not, O love, I know 'tis cold, 
The sun seems covered with a shroud, 

But oh, how often, I have been told 
'Tis still shining behind the cloud 

The blustering March can scarce hold his breath, 

Till time for him to blow winter away. 
And foolish April will weep, I am sure, o'er the 
death. 
But we, oh love, will rejoice with the flowers of 
May. 

Turn not your eyes to bleak despair 

For 'tis winter there all the y p ar, 
But some sweet century God will call up there 

And 'twill be eternal spring when the sleeping 
awake, dear. 



6b 

The Goddess Vesta stirs the fire on our lonely hearth 
And hear you the kettle mournfully sing. 

Let us close the door on the hoar earth 
And by our fireside find sweet spring. 



THE DESERTED HOME. 

deserted house stands on yon hill; 
No one ventures near, for 'tis gloomy and chill 
To look on its massive ruined wall 
That was once so proud and tall. 
Happy children once played within your walls, 
Silver laughter echoed through your halls; 
And from your windows flooded rays of light 
As if overflowing with joy they would divide with 
night. 

And from your chimney clouds of smoke rolled high, 
Waving like a proud flag in the sky. 

Ah, happy home, your walls are crumbled, 

Your once proud air is greatly humbled, 
The light from your windows no longer shine, 
And the path is chocked with brier and vines; 

Ashes now lie where the fire burned bright; 

'Tis rumored that you are haunted through the 
night, 
That your old loved ones come back and play 
As they did when they were happy and gay. 



09 



THE SABBATH. 

O Sweet morn of the Sabbath day, 
) In the world of stormy progress you are like a 
sun ray; 
The clamoring of advancement no longer echoes 

on the air, 
But silence Holy reigns o'er the day of prayer. 

If the week has been lost, let not the Sabbath be 

regret; 
For past and future, we all should forget 

From the rising of the Sun to the sinking in the 

west, 
Put failure and success aside and live with the 
day of rest. 

Deep from the organ to glorious heights the tones 

roll. 
They flood over the twilight and through the gates 
of my soul. 
The chiming bells ring clearly through the calm 

glen, 
While the choir sings "Peace on earth and good 
will to men.' ' 

The Supreme Being holds the globe in his hand. 
No exertions now, but rest to all the land. 

On the bowed heads, O God, let your blessings 
fall 

Before they take the banner and follow their call. 



70 



Q 



WE ARE FREE. 

OD made the land, 

In splendor grand; 
Far out o'er the sea 
There is an echo, We are free, 
We are free. 

The majestic mountian towers high. 
Towering fearlessly in the sky, 

Independent children sing in glee, 

Their song echoes, We are free, 

We are free. 

The valley in sweet repose doth rest, 
Between the mountains rocky breast. 

The thrush from the bough in the oak tree 

Sings its song, We are free, 

We are free. 

The farmers sing "America" at their toil, 
And the contented root grows deeper in the soil, 
The brook ripples on carelessly, 
And whispers to the bank, We are free, 
We are free. 

And the obnoxious burr will grow, 
We must reap what it doth sow, 

Clinging to us it looks up defiantly; 

Knowingly it looks, We are free, 

We are free. 



ARTIST, POET AND MUSICIAN. 

O'ER the city in an attic they dwell, 
The light is dim, the air is cold, 
But their talent they would not sell 
For all the kingdom 's precious gold. 

The musician takes his lyre, 

His soul in rapture doth thrill, 
He kindles on the wires, a passionate fire 

Warming the room and its chill. 

The artist paints a glowing scene, 

A happy smile on his lips, a clestial light in his 
eyes; 
My life! he cried, is serene, 

For my brush would paint all Paradise. 

The song rings in the poet's heart, 

And words in harmony fall from his pen, 

As each treasure from his soul doth part, — 
He little realizes its worth to other men. 

Why must this dwell within the attic walls? 

Others will play those musicial strains. 
The work of the artist will adorn great halls 

The poem of the poets will entertain many brains. 



72 



DEATH. 

DEATH has entered the chamber 
And clasped my long loved friend ; 
The fevered face flushed like an ember 

Now lies like ashes, for death we can ne'er fend. 

Oh, close the lids over the frigid stare, 

It pierces my anguished heart; 
I seek in vain for the consoling look there 

But from all sorrow it doth depart. 

The lips respond not to the kiss, 

The limp fingers return not the press, 

O, Lord God, why should it be this 
One, that my soul did so bless. 

Your visage is calm like the twilight, 

Your day has been a gloomy one; 
And the way you welcome the sweet rest of night, 

To all mankind makes glorious your setting sun. 

Let me tarry yet awhile by your side, 

Death and I alone in the room. 
Every blooming flower has died. 

We live to die, and die to live beyond the tomb. 



73 



THE COXCOMB. 

'HITHER doth thou go? O, fawning cox- 
comb? 

What caprice would you now dance? 
O, thou useless froth and foam 
That knows no drug of penance. 

Each word from your sycophantic tongue 
All your magnetic power doth destroy, 

For it tells your brain ceased growing while young, 
And it dulls your weapons of decoy. 

Ah, your brilliant cravat and dainty glove 
If 'twas not for the one it doth adorn, 

One might really fall in love; 

But all has gone to tassel and there is no corn. 

Ah, Saints, deliver me from the popinjay; 

I would rather cling to a vulcan 's sinewy arm, 
Thau live in his presence one day. 

His flippant admiration cast o'er me no charm. 



74 



A WALK. 

THE day was dismal 
The gray sky wept, 
A feeling of despair 
Over me crept. 

I could not fathom my distress 

But my heart writhed with pain; 
And I left the dreary room 

To be in the drenching rain, 

It fell so thick and heavy 

I could scarce see the path, — 
It washed away despondency 

With an alarming bath. 

I groped my way along 

Knowing not whither to go, 
And thought if this be an emblem of heaven's sorrow, 

How tame was my little woe. 

Then there came to my side 

A youth, young and fair, 
He held a shielding umbrella 

For me. He said ' to share. " 

Ah, woe was gone, I know not where; 

Like kisses of Venus fell the rain on my face. 
And cupid with drooping wings 

Perched upon the umbrella's brace. 



75 

Some magic hand ceased the rain, 

The fiery Vulcan drew the rainbow, 
Making all love in the sky 

As cupid hath done here below. 

The sun all red from weeping, 

He has had a mournful day, — 
The birds all tired of waiting 

Sing again their cheerful lay. 

CAROLINE 

THE weary sun has sunk in the west 
L,ike a weary child, that sinks its head 
On its mother's breast, 

To sleep till the birds call it from its bed. 

Not a leaf is stirring, and all is still 
Save the cricket that sings its ceaseless song, 

As if, to break the silence it sings loud and shrill. 
A silent figure sits on yon bank long. 

He is as motionless as the trees by his side, 

He has not uttered a sigh or groan, 
But great pain in his face doth reside; 

A face so set, and cold it looks like chiseled stone. 

Suddenly a low cry of anguish echoed through the 
wood. 
O, simple doltish fool that I be, 
If I could only forget her, how readily I would; 



76 

But I am like a fish and thoughts of her are my 
sea. 

I am like the green earth and thoughts of her are 
my rain, 

silly fellow, she gives thee no thought 
And you persist in wearing out your brain 

On her, that will not by you be sought. 

Conscience come to the rescue, aided by pride, 

And help me secure my old ways, 
Help me this unmanly weakness to hide 

For on Caroline's face no more may I gaze. 

1 sought for her uncle, but a week hence, 

And poured out to him words, that would have 
melted iron; 
The heat of their passion was intense, 

The intensity of their valor myself did alarm. 

But the aged veteran bade me depart 

For on his niece I had no claim : 
A German Count posessed her heart, 

Ah, my poor simple name. 

And bade me leave the gates of her home 
As she could not care for a miller's son, 

And for me in another country to roam, 
That she flirted with me just for fun. 

A German Count indeed, a Countess she will be, 
And will be a Countess only for fun I presume 



And will all this end with glee? 

Ah, greatly I fear she waits her doom. 

Oh Caroline! Oh Caroline! I love you yet, 
As I loved you that morning in June — 

The morning, four years ago, when we first met; 
Will I ever forget time, the place, and the tune? 

You sang along the way; 

Your golden curls floated like a sunray cloud, 
Your merry laugh so mirthful and ga3^. 
Oh, then, my boyish heart was proud. 

And your blue eyes twinkled as 30U said 
You loved your dog, Tige, the best; 

And now my heart is like lead, 
For you did it all for fun and jest. 

I to forget all, my darling? No! 

Never will I forget your sweet face, 
No matter where I go 

Your features from my brain I can never erase. 

Tomorrow noon, Oh Caroline, 

You will be Count Carago's wife; 
The darling who cannot be mine, 

Yet I am her's all through life. 

'Tis time for me to leave this spot I love so well 
And go out in the world, away from it all; 

'Tis a change like from heaven to hell; 
Oh Caroline! Do you not hear me call? 

LOFC, 



Oh, if I could see you once more; 

A sight that releases me from pain, 
A sight that makes my tired heart pure, 

And I pray again and again, 

That I may see your face 

In my nightly dreams, 
So that thro' my life's haze 

L,ike a ray of sunshine it may stream. 

And he went on his dreary path alone, 
To a country far from every loved one; 

A dark cloud passed between him and the sun, 

And all this was for Caroline's fun. 

Countess Carago, will you come at once 
And re-fill this bowl with that delicious punch? 
Then get thee behind my chair, 
For thy face, my lady, is all but fair. 

When I married you three years ago, 
My ambitions were high and my purse low, 
My Title and I went to America and there, 
Scores of pretty girls held out their purses for me 
to share. 

You were the highest bidder, Countess Caroline, 
And from thy offer, I could not easily decline! 
And so you received the prize, — 
A booby prize, you think, in disguise. 

Your Lord no longer desires to dip 
Into the punch, his Royal lip. 



So get thee hence, out of his sight, 
For he is no crow and will eat no corn 

Countess Carago I bid thee good night, 
Your absence greatly will I mourn. 

Countess Carago had a vision in her sleep, 
Of the mill, the miller and his son, 

Of her perilous, giddy leap, 
And of what she called her fun. 

Far off in a foreign country there is a grave 

known, 
To all save the cricket that guards it alone. 

And this is the ending of the miller's son, 

Caused by Caroline's fun. 



80 



TIME. 

XJ, tarry not to rest your weary feet 
Upon the turf of idleness, 

For these fleeting days will ne'er repeat; 

Oh utilize times, progress. 
Turn not back to look o'er the past, 

To see if your footprints are on the sands; 
On before you the field is vast, 

And steadily forward moves the clock's hands. 

The world ne'er ceases its turn a day, 

Time rests not even in the shades of night, 

The sun ne'er rests its constant ray, 

The moon is ever giving someone her mellow 
light. 

Pass on through your fields of toil, 
You all possess good soil; 

And if you sow the laurel seed, 

God will ne'er let you reap a weed. 



81 



SONG. 

OUT through the space chanted a song, 
As though seeking a place to hide; 
Against my heart it beat loud and strong 
As the shore is, by the unruly tide. 

Strength could ne'er turn the key, 

That clasped the lock of my heart; 
And I stood, engrossed in agony, 

Till my conscience did awake and start. 

Conscience turned the key and opened the cell, 
'Twas a narrow, gloomy, chill place; 

But the song entered her sweet story to tell, 
And left it filled with warmth and grace. 

And ere I close my eyes at night, 

That song rings sweetly in my ear; 
'Tis on my lips as I rise with the daylight; 

Of all things on earth, to me, the song is most 
dear. 



82 

TO A FRIEND. 

H, friend, dear friend, most true 
'•May the world be a round of success for you, 
May love and purity cleave to your soul, 
As does the snow to the northpole. 

May life's blustrous winds blow 
Against your back as onward you go; 

May your com se never decline 

O, dear friend, of mine. 

THE IDLE DAY. 

'IS gone; the golden day 
In idleness flitted away, 

It ne'er will come again 

With its apron of golden grain. 
What souvenir is left to idleness? 
The pillow of discontent for the restless; 

Oh, day, that in idleness flitted away 

And left me repented here to stay. 
O, day, thou art to me dead, 
No tomb lies at your head 

But your spirit ever haunts me, 

And for my idleness taunts me. 

The cloak of indolence about my form 
Turned aside every industrious storm; 

Now in the twilight when 'tis too late, 

I mourn with darkness my fate. 



83 



REST. 

let my grave be far away, 
') Upon a lonely, forsaken hill, 
And there I'll rest in my bed of clay, 
As in dawn if all be still. 

I want no path of gravel 

By my peaceful mound, 
For if the world must travel 

Keep from my grave its sound. 

The peaceful time will come ere long, 

When with hands folded on breast 
We shall part from the earth and its farewell song 

To sink into the grave of rest. 



27 1907 



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